


The Show Must Go On

by Sorida



Series: You Had Me At Prompt [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Bonus Points Acquired, But mostly to his job let's be real, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil Has a High Pain Tolerance, Cecil Whump, Cecil is Pretty Damn Human, Cecil is Really Committed, Hella, M/M, Major Character Injury, Reference to Injury, To His Job, Very Ungraphic Violence, and Carlos, both the description of injury and the writing, hopefully, really not that bad, unless it is, violence is not the answer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2447915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorida/pseuds/Sorida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filling the prompt over on livejournal:</p><p>"I really, really want to see Cecil doing the show while being severely injured in some way. He's bloody and in a great deal of pain, but his listeners are waiting for his report, and he's going to do it. He does his best to sound his normal self.</p><p>Bonus points for Carlos realizing something is off from the sound of Cecil's voice."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Show Must Go On

**Author's Note:**

> I keep seeing all the kink meme stuff and I got curious. I found a few gems that don't look like they've been fulfilled, so here I go. What can I say? It looked like fun. It's a year later than posted but whatever, it didn't look like anyone filled it yet. Also, like everything I do, this spiraled out of control so Cecil didn't end up as injured as I wanted him to. Oh well, he's still in hella pain so yeah.

Carelessly, he threw his portable radio equipment in the corner of the booth. An intern with properly working limbs could put it away and clean it off. On the other hand, he should probably be the one to clean it off seeing as it was  _his blood_ on the gear. It was a miracle (if one believed in such things) that nothing was broken in that interesting news coverage. If things went according to plan, his listeners were awaiting his return to the microphone with the knowledge that he left the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex fully intact and with bodily fluids remaining inside the correct veins and arteries and most certainly  _not_ ruining one of his favorite outfits! Ugh, he probably looked like his  _double_ right now, maybe worse seeing as certain bones weren't quite aligned correctly with each other and every step forced them to grind together in the most uncomfortable of ways.

...Carlos was not going to be happy. And there was definitely a giant "I told you so" waiting for him upon his return home. But hopefully, he could keep Carlos and the citizens of Night Vale in the dark until the end of the broadcast. Then he could say that the Sheriff's Secret Police had been running their mandatory - yet unexpected - vehicle road tests in which both vehicles involved are required to smash headlong into each other at approximately 35-40mph. This would test the vehicle's durability as well as verify the correct percentage of the population that did not possess pain receptors.

Right now, Cecil wished he was in that majority because wow, broken bones really hurt. Biting back yet another pathetic whine, he stumbled over to his chair and all but collapsed into it. He struggled to regain his breath through bruised and possibly cracked ribs. His eyes wandered over to the blinking electronics, signaling the end of the Weather. He could do this. He could finish the show like there was nothing wrong and then he could patch himself up with that first aid kit they kept in the Intern Break Room and then he could go home to Carlos and sleep it off, just like he used to do whenever Station Management saw it fit to "put him in his place."

Wiping the blood off of his forehead, which honestly did nothing but smear more of it across his skin, he carefully placed his headphones over his ears and flicked the switch. If the booth actually possessed an "On Air" sign, it would've flickered on. But since they didn't actually own one, a couple of blinking lights were the station's only indicator from the switch between Weather to The Voice.

"Welcome back, listeners," Cecil greeted, forcing his voice to remain unwavering. It was harder than he thought it'd be, even after years of training and experience. In fact, this was probably the hardest he'd ever had to force that calm, soothing tone into his Voice. That prize used to belong to the closing segment during that dreadful sandstorm, since his double had choked him so hard that his trachea came out moderately bruised. But this, this felt like talking with shards of glass lodged into his vocal chords after being dipped in the acid of a nutmeg creature. Slowly and carefully, he raised a hand to his neck. With a wince, he realized that even his throat hadn't come out entirely unscathed. It felt like a bad bruise and honestly, he shouldn't be abusing his Voice like that, but the show wasn't over and he had a job to do. Swallowing back a sickening mix of saliva and blood, he continued.

 _"Once again, a lot happened today during the Weather,"_ the Voice on the radio said, wafting through the air from a somewhat tinny speaker to Carlos' ears. The scientist was doing some pretty simple, mind-numbing tests on a few leaves he'd collected from the Whispering Forest. He was half-listening to his boyfriend's show, half-concentrating on loading his centrifuge with random Night Valean flora, when he heard  _it._

_"...Of course, no one can b-can be **completely** sure of the overall threat of the Underground City underneath Lane Five, but Teddy Williams, as well as myself, caution you all from setting foot anywhere near Lane Five. Lanes Six and Four, however, are perfectly safe for use as are all other lanes. Remember, if you bring in an armadillo egg sac, you get one game free!"_

At first, Carlos thought it was a trick of the ear. After all, it's not as if Cecil never got a little flustered on his show before. And he hadn't really been listening, so it was probably nothing. Cecil was safe in his booth - well, as safe as he could be with an Eldritch Abomination of a boss - and aside from a few incidents, nothing terribly awful ever befell him. It was probably due to some weird Night Vale contract or whatever: no radio hosts dying within the next three years!

_"...We may not be many, but we are enough and we have a voice. Do not...ever forget that..."_

That pause was a little too long. Cecil's show was about theatrics as much as it was about reporting and Cecil had nailed both of those aspects. He knew the job, he was fantastic at the job, and he had the Voice for the job. Cecil  _never_ made a slip-up like that. This time, Carlos couldn't just ignore it because when Cecil was in his professional radio persona, he never paused too long and he never stuttered unless the story moved him to the point of losing the ability to vocalize his emotions. And in Carlos' recent memory, that had only happened once and that one time involved himself.

So Carlos took up shop no more that two feet away from his radio, listening intently at the sound waves being broadcast across the town.

"No matter how insignificant you may feel, remember that you exist. We...all exist." Cecil quickly, but gently, covered the microphone with his hand and coughed once. Twice. Thrice. On the fourth, he spit out a fluid that was more blood than saliva, fixed his posture, and returned to the microphone. For those listening, it felt like a natural gap in his speech pattern.

For Carlos, the extra fraction of a second was enough to make his anxiety climb through the roof. Part of him speculated that he needed to not worry so much and try to stop this Obsessive Boyfriend Syndrome before it became a serious problem. The part that he was willing to listen to screamed at him that something was very, very wrong. And like everyone else in Night Vale, he was powerless to reach out to this disembodied Voice on the radio. Whenever Cecil started the closing, it was like a spell was placed over the town. Nobody left their homes or whatever enclosed space they were occupying or trapped in. Cars pulled over on the sides of the streets. People were simply glued to their radios, waiting for the sign off that would send them all into a peaceful facsimile of sleep with the knowledge that everything was somewhat okay.

And that was why Cecil couldn't stop now.

Every bone, fractured or otherwise, ached. His head throbbed. His throat burned. He was shaking and cold and ugh, those stains were never going to come out of his shirt...

But he had to sign off. He had to reassure everyone that, for now, the universe was in one piece and the night would be a peaceful one. No Outsiders would enter without all of them fully conscious of the interlopers. The Sheriff's Secret Police would survey and protect them. The City Council and the Hooded Figures and everything in between would be sated for those hours of vulnerability and would remain placated until the first rays of the always-late sun peaked over the horizon.

He had a job to do and masters of everything, he was going to finish it. Propping himself up on his good arm, the other being a bloody mess and hanging over the side of his armrest, Cecil took a shuddering breath.

_"Stay tuned for...a loud noise followed...by...silent agony."_

Something in Cecil's voice didn't register as correct. The pauses were too long and the Voice sounded strained, like Cecil had spent the night screaming again and woke up with a Voice so hoarse that Carlos could barely understand it. A well-sized ball of fear and dread wound its way inside of Carlos' stomach. He vaguely hoped that it didn't manifest into something that would require a bloodstone ritual because wow, that last one had been so uncomfortable. But Cecil sounded off, he sounded scared, and that last breath that he took...Carlos didn't want to think about it.

Contrary to popular belief, Cecil did get sick. The one time Carlos had had to take care of him, Cecil had a nasty bout of the flu that left him a sore, shaky mess. Those raspy, hard-to-take breaths were still clear in Carlos' mind, as what Night Vale had labeled "the flu" would have been called "pneumonia" in the outside world.

Every possible conclusion was being drawn, everything from some fast-acting sickness to serious injury. Carlos wracked his brain for any useful information, anything he'd caught from Cecil's broadcast before the Weather. To be completely truthful, he could not recall a lot. There was something about "aglet" becoming an outlawed word, free swimming lessons at the Waterfront with a down payment of two hundred seventy-three polished ocean glass, and maybe something about a tournament involving sour cream and a pogo stick. Or was it a bowling pin?

_Wait a minute..._

Cecil's vision was blurring rapidly. He could barely see the microphone dangling in front of him, let alone distinguish the correct switches for ending the show. Oh right, he had to end the show. That's what he'd been doing. Did he mention what was coming next? Oh, he couldn't remember and it probably wasn't that important anyways. Only about half of Night Vale listened to what went on after his show. He should feel honored. Heck, he did feel honored. People liked him more than dead air punctuated by the occasional groan of an able-bodied water buffalo! And those water buffalo groans were just the cutest thing! How he'd love to visit Asia one day, visit Chinoi and the Fizzepine Isle. A tour of Netzpul with Carlos would be nice too. But wait, he couldn't do that yet because there was something else he was forgetting, something kind of important...oh, right.

 Weakly raising his head from the desk, he blearily stared at the mass of gray and black in front of him and smiled. Yes, this was what he had to do! Oh what joy it was being the Voice! What adventure! What mystery! What purpose! Of course, his purpose for the night was nearly complete. It was his job to send them off to bed, with fleeting knowledge of safety hanging over their proud little community. So with a shaky breath, he whispered into the microphone.

_"Goodnight...Night Vale...goodnight..."_

Before Carlos's brain could finish whatever connection it had been trying to make, a loud thump echoed through the speaker. He froze, eyes wide, simply staring at the contraption. It was a full three seconds before the realization of what that thump truly meant rocketed through his brain. Before anyone could ask him what was wrong, Carlos was out the door and driving toward Night Vale Community Radio Station.

He berated himself the whole ride. How could he not know right away? How could he not have been able to tell that Cecil was hiding? Despite being open about his emotions, Cecil was very withdrawn when it came to displaying weakness of any kind. While Carlos was relieved that Cecil didn't see romance and emotions in general as a weakness, he worried over the fact that Cecil would hide pain from him. It didn't matter if that pain was emotional, physical, or mental. Cecil would hide the pain, convince everyone that he was fine, and perfect the act as much as possible. The only indications Carlos ever received of this were late night incidents in which Cecil believed him to be asleep. And while the knowledge that Cecil didn't feel comfortable sharing this with him hurt, Carlos respected his boyfriend's privacy and never pushed for answers. The next morning, he'd simply squeeze Cecil's hand with a grip that was a little stronger or linger just a little bit longer on a good morning kiss, just to let the other man know that Carlos was there for him. Carlos should have figured that, sooner or later, this would become a big problem and now he was about to confront it face-to-face.

Throwing the car into park, Carlos burst through the doors of the station and sprinted to the recording booth. Station Management didn't bother to stop him and even had the courtesy to lessen the amount of despair around their office. None of the interns appeared to be around and Carlos vaguely remembered Cecil saying something about needing more applicants because they'd lost a record-breaking three interns today and the interns were stretched thin as it was.

So nobody was there to stop Carlos from barging headlong through the door of the booth. Nobody was there to warn him of the sight he was about to see. But then again, nobody could have prepared him for that crushing sense of dread and all-consuming fear that firmly rooted him to the spot until he could regain his composure.

Cecil was slumped over the desk, head and arms sprawled across it, as blood stained the wooden surface. There was a small, bloody trail leading to the man's current position and even from the doorway, Carlos could hear the breath rattling in and out of Cecil's lungs.

Almost on autopilot, Carlos slowly walked over to his boyfriend's prone figure, shakily resting a hand on a bloodstained shoulder. Cecil hissed underneath him, eyes blinking open slightly. The fear of death immediately left Carlos, replaced by other equally significant worries and concerns.

"Cecil, can you hear me?" Carlos asked, kneeling in front of Cecil. His hands hovered over Cecil's chest, unsure of whether or not to check for injuries or simply support the other's upper body because Cecil obviously wasn't doing that on his own. "Oh my God, Cecil, what happened?" The desperation was barely kept out of his voice.

"...off..." Cecil managed to mumble, unsuccessfully gesturing to his left.

"What?" Carlos said in return, looking in the direction Cecil had more or less waved to.

"Please...turn it off..." Cecil slurred with a little more success.

"Turn what off-oh." Here Cecil was, still bleeding and possibly dying, and  _he was putting the job first._

Carlos was torn between wanting to kiss Cecil and wanting to punch him square in the jaw.

Despite his internal debate, he did flick all the switches into what he presumed was the "Off" position, just so Cecil would focus on telling him about what happened to him.

"Mmm...perfect," Cecil commented with a small smile. Carlos was about ready to pull out his hair.

"Cecil, listen to me very carefully." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he could feel Cecil's attention on him. No matter what condition he was in, Cecil would always listen to him and that was a pretty comforting thought. "You need to tell me how this happened and how badly you're hurt," Carlos said, slowly and deliberately so Cecil would understand him. Another shot of panic ran through him when annoyance didn't register on Cecil's face. Cecil hated being talked to like a child, it was just one of his pet peeves. To see him not react like a petulant child in return was worrisome, to say the least.

"Well, I kinda sorta maybe made a...quick visit to a kinda particular bowling alley..." Cecil admitted, looking like he was telling some huge secret to someone that wasn't his mother. "And I kinda sorta maybe...decided...t'give Lane...Lane Five a piece of my mind..."

Cecil was so lucky he was delirious right now or Carlos would have no hesitations in smacking Cecil upside the head.

"What in your right mind told you that was a good idea?" Carlos all but yelled. "Of everyone in this crazy town, you were the  _last_ person I expected to ever set foot there! What were you thinking, Cecil?!"

"They knew me," Cecil continued, unfazed by Carlos' protective anger. "They...they've heard of me. Heard me. Remembered you. Teddy...said they'd attack and...what is a town without its Voice? They would've come here anyway..."

"That doesn't excuse going straight into trouble," Carlos countered. "If they were coming here, you'd know right away and I know there's a bunker near the janitorial supply closet which, for some reason, has a sign on it that says 'Night Vale Meteorological Society.'"

"...Would've killed you first." The sadness and agony in Cecil's eyes were enough to sate Carlos' anger and fear. He fell silent, so Cecil continued. "Lost you once...wasn't going to again. Never...ever..." Cecil turned away to cough and Carlos noticed a glob of red leave his boyfriend's lips. In an instant, he was by Cecil's side, gently caressing an arm that didn't look injured.

"Cecil," he started, but couldn't find the words to follow. He simply held onto Cecil as best as he could while tears and blood silently flowed from the other man's body. They stayed in silence, understanding and unwavering support passing between them, until Cecil's breathing became heavier and more labored and Carlos couldn't take hearing it without doing something.

"We need to get you patched up," he finally said, allowing himself to do a quick scan of Cecil's body. He definitely had a broken arm and some sort of sprained ankle, maybe strained or maybe broken. There were multiple gashes and bloody holes, though not as many as Carlos had had. And after a very gentle and quick touch to Cecil's chest, none of his ribs seemed to have pierced a lung. They'd find out later that the blood had come from a missing molar and a bitten tongue. Unpleasant, but survivable. But he blood loss was enough to be worrisome and the amount of pain that registered in Cecil's brain wasn't good. And there was the fact that he was still bleeding...

But that meant Cecil was still alive. That meant he was fixable. That meant they had a future and that was all either of them could ever ask for. And as Carlos led Cecil out of the station, more dragging the man than supporting him, he knew he couldn't ask for anything more from this strange, backwards town. While Cecil's pulse was thready, it was still a pulse and Carlos somehow knew that Cecil wasn't dying on him tonight. Maybe it was Night Vale, maybe it was just optimism, but no matter what he chalked it up to, Carlos was certain of two things, one being that Cecil was never going to hear the end of this and they were so making some sort of compromise about putting themselves in the throws of danger.

And the other...the other was a sense of calmness. As the minutes dragged on, the worry and anxiety simply bled out of him. By the time he'd placed Cecil on one of the lab's cots and bandaged him up, the crushing sense of negativity was gone and he wasn't sure why. He just knew things would be alright.

As he carefully climbed onto the cot with Cecil, he took a moment to breathe. Everything was okay. Knowing Cecil, he'd be up before Carlos and somehow managing to make coffee with nothing but a sloppily splinted arm and a loving smile on his face. And Carlos knew this would all happen, knew it to be true, just because. Night Vale needed no other reason than just because.

Maybe it was the magic of the town or maybe it was Carlos giving in to delusion. But as the night wore on and Carlos drifted off to sleep, he couldn't help but remember that Cecil had signed off.

And something about that made everything okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Author Fun Fact: Without mucus, your stomach would digest itself. That's how you get ulcers, they develop in areas of the stomach that lack in the mucus department. Moral of the story: mucus is important.
> 
> Not sure how I feel about the ending, but it's fluffy and optimistic and it has a smidgen of headcanon so you know what? I'm satisfied.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, commenting, bookmarking, kudos-ing, and doing whatever else it is that shows affection. Have a spectacular day and always check your blind spots before pulling out of a parking space.


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